Hetalia fic - The Longest Road (Canada/America); 4/12
The Longest Road
Rating: R-18
Warning: Future AU, Original character(s), twincest
Summary: In the future, North Korea launches a war that will re-shape the world. The United States and Canada, wrecked by nuclear attacks and plague, fall into chaos. Now, almost two decades later, people have started to turn to some of the few governmental institutions to have survived - those of the native peoples of those lands. Led by the boy from a 400-year old prophecy, they will need to carve out a new future for themselves. And Matthew and Alfred, the nations of Canada and the United States of America, will need to do the same.
“Going home must be like going to render an account.” -- Joseph Conrad
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3
Ties
All their squabbles of the past seem to evaporate when the time finally comes for Juan to say goodbye. Matthew is wearing a pair of jeans that hang loose around his waist thanks to the weight he lost while sick, and a sweatshirt that smells of mothballs and musty closet. Conscious of that, he sticks out his hand for a parting handshake, but his older brother brushes it aside without a moment`s hesitation and pulls him into a tight hug.
“Take care Mateo,” he whispers into Matthew`s ear, his voice taunt as strung bowstring. “Of yourself and our little conejo too.”
Matthew nods, not trusting himself to answer. They remain like that for a few more moments before finally pulling away, Juan keeping an arm out for Matthew to steady himself on; he hasn`t been out of his sickbed all that long, and it shows.
He stiffens at the knock on the door.
“Steel yourself,” Juan mutters, and he does so. All the same, his jaw tightens at the sight of the woman who follows Jim in - her long black hair is braided tightly, lightly streaked with grey, the edges of her dark eyes crinkled with years that have done nothing to soften her stern expression. Not even living with her gentler sister for the past couple of hundred years could manage that. Seneca once bore the title of the guardian of the western door, and no one seeing her would question whether she felt she bore that responsibility still. Warrior`s eyes, set into a warrior`s face, and with as little tolerance for nonsense as one. Still, Matthew can`t help but notice the beauty of the beadwork she wears - both her own intricate work and Cayuga`s simpler but equally elegant design.
“Hello Auntie,” he greets cautiously. She looks him over, seeming vaguely displeased, though he can`t tell at what. Kumajirou wanders over to sniff at her hand and is rewarded with a quick ruffle of his fur. Matthew represses a scowl at that.
“Come child,” she says at last. Matthew begins to bristle at being referred to as such, but Juan`s hand on his shoulder keeps him silent. “If you`ve said your goodbyes, then we should be off. We have to load your brother, and after that we’ve got long drive ahead of us.”
He nods stiffly. He`s ready. It`s not as if he has any luggage to bring with him after all, save for Alfred and Kumajirou, but they`re not exactly baggage. He is herded into the van as the others load Alfred, insisting (correctly), that Matthew is still not well enough himself to assist. He wraps his arms around Kumajirou and sulks until Jim comes around from the back.
“Well, he`s all tucked in back there, safe and sound as we can make him,” Jim says, dusting off his hands. Matthew sits up a little, straightening his shoulders when he feels Jim`s eyes settle on him. “Hey,” he continues gently, and Matthew feels a little worse for his sulking, “-I`m going to keep working hard for you two.” Seneca climbs in behind the driver`s seat, and the man shares a look with her. Something seems to pass between them, but Matthew would be damned if he knew what it was. “For all of us.”
Matthew chews on his lip, but nods. “Thank you,” he says, and he means it. Then Seneca starts up the car and he has to quickly wave goodbye to Juan and Jim before they are left behind them. Once his older brother and boss fade from sight, he sighs and settles back against the seat. Seneca says nothing, and in fact the drives passes by in almost complete silence, broken only by an old country cassette tape she pushes into the player. It plays through twice before they finally arrived at their destination - a dirt road somewhere in the middle of Onondaga territory, leading to a cabin set a bit off from the rest of the village.
Onondaga is waiting for them when they pull up the drive. He wears his own long hair loose, clad in an old flannel shirt, buttoned up against the cooling night. None of the others are present: not Cayuga, with her skilled hands, nor Oneida, with his quiet solidarity, not Mohawk, herself as much the warrior as Seneca, nor Tuscarora, with his boisterous laugh. Matthew wonders if they will come at all.
He exchanges a greeting of some sort with his uncle, but he can`t recall the exact words of the exchange a minute later. He is tired from the drive, and his long illness, and distracted by seeing what he assumes is to be his new home for the time being. It is clearly far from new, but well-kept up despite that, clean and without the usual musty smell that accompanies such places. He sets Kumajirou down and takes the chance to peer inside while his aunt and uncle see to Alfred. There is a small kitchen with an old-fashioned woodstove and a table, one leg shorter than the other three and therefore propped up by a deck of playing cards. There is a small but serviceable bathroom and a loft that he assumes usually serves as the sleeping area. However, it appears someone knew they weren`t about to clamber up that ladder anytime soon, as two fold-out beds had been set up in the living room area and any furniture that might have been there removed, save for a coffee table and one sitting chair.
The windows are large and open, letting in the night air, which Matthew is thankful for as he sinks into the chair and breaths it in deeply. Alfred is laid on the bed nearest to him. Disregarding that his aunt and uncle are still present, Matthew slumps forward over his brother, rising and falling along with the movements of Alfred`s chest and listening to the heart beating in tandem with his own.
“You`ll be staying here for a while,” Onondaga explains, his voice not unkind. “Not isolated, but just given some space for the time being. We will bring you the things you need of course. It was decided this would be best.”
Best for whom, Matthew wonders, but he doesn`t ask that. “How long?” he asks instead, and turns to see his uncle`s answering shrug.
“Until you`re ready.”
Matthew grunts, and finally asks the question that`s been hovering at the back of his mind all this time, despite the part of him that dreads the answer.
“How are we still here?”
Seneca gives him a sharp stare that seems to go on forever to Matthew and answers before her brother.
“I`d guess you still have enough people believing in you not to start out after the ancestors just yet,” she says at last, following it up with a shrug. “Broke don`t mean dead, necessarily.” She begins walking towards the door, and after a moment, her brother follows her. “But that`s up to you, ain`t it?”
Notes:
“Of yourself and our little conejo too.” - Conejo means rabbit in Spanish.
The Iroquois were matriarchal: families traced down the mother`s line and the elder women appointed and removed chiefs from power. Thus, I decided to make Seneca and Cayuga (and later Mohawk) women. The Seneca and the Mohawk were located on the outside geographically-speaking, and charged with the protection of the League`s outer territories. The Onondaga were central, and thus were keepers of the League's (both literal and figurative) central flame. The Cayuga do not have their own reservation today and thus share with the Seneca today.
Auntie is a term of respect for an older woman among many tribes and not at all meant in the diminutive sense.
A small plea for anyone reading this: would you mind saying hello at least? Just to let me know that someone IS reading this. ^^; The silence is rather discouraging.
Rating: R-18
Warning: Future AU, Original character(s), twincest
Summary: In the future, North Korea launches a war that will re-shape the world. The United States and Canada, wrecked by nuclear attacks and plague, fall into chaos. Now, almost two decades later, people have started to turn to some of the few governmental institutions to have survived - those of the native peoples of those lands. Led by the boy from a 400-year old prophecy, they will need to carve out a new future for themselves. And Matthew and Alfred, the nations of Canada and the United States of America, will need to do the same.
“Going home must be like going to render an account.” -- Joseph Conrad
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3
Ties
All their squabbles of the past seem to evaporate when the time finally comes for Juan to say goodbye. Matthew is wearing a pair of jeans that hang loose around his waist thanks to the weight he lost while sick, and a sweatshirt that smells of mothballs and musty closet. Conscious of that, he sticks out his hand for a parting handshake, but his older brother brushes it aside without a moment`s hesitation and pulls him into a tight hug.
“Take care Mateo,” he whispers into Matthew`s ear, his voice taunt as strung bowstring. “Of yourself and our little conejo too.”
Matthew nods, not trusting himself to answer. They remain like that for a few more moments before finally pulling away, Juan keeping an arm out for Matthew to steady himself on; he hasn`t been out of his sickbed all that long, and it shows.
He stiffens at the knock on the door.
“Steel yourself,” Juan mutters, and he does so. All the same, his jaw tightens at the sight of the woman who follows Jim in - her long black hair is braided tightly, lightly streaked with grey, the edges of her dark eyes crinkled with years that have done nothing to soften her stern expression. Not even living with her gentler sister for the past couple of hundred years could manage that. Seneca once bore the title of the guardian of the western door, and no one seeing her would question whether she felt she bore that responsibility still. Warrior`s eyes, set into a warrior`s face, and with as little tolerance for nonsense as one. Still, Matthew can`t help but notice the beauty of the beadwork she wears - both her own intricate work and Cayuga`s simpler but equally elegant design.
“Hello Auntie,” he greets cautiously. She looks him over, seeming vaguely displeased, though he can`t tell at what. Kumajirou wanders over to sniff at her hand and is rewarded with a quick ruffle of his fur. Matthew represses a scowl at that.
“Come child,” she says at last. Matthew begins to bristle at being referred to as such, but Juan`s hand on his shoulder keeps him silent. “If you`ve said your goodbyes, then we should be off. We have to load your brother, and after that we’ve got long drive ahead of us.”
He nods stiffly. He`s ready. It`s not as if he has any luggage to bring with him after all, save for Alfred and Kumajirou, but they`re not exactly baggage. He is herded into the van as the others load Alfred, insisting (correctly), that Matthew is still not well enough himself to assist. He wraps his arms around Kumajirou and sulks until Jim comes around from the back.
“Well, he`s all tucked in back there, safe and sound as we can make him,” Jim says, dusting off his hands. Matthew sits up a little, straightening his shoulders when he feels Jim`s eyes settle on him. “Hey,” he continues gently, and Matthew feels a little worse for his sulking, “-I`m going to keep working hard for you two.” Seneca climbs in behind the driver`s seat, and the man shares a look with her. Something seems to pass between them, but Matthew would be damned if he knew what it was. “For all of us.”
Matthew chews on his lip, but nods. “Thank you,” he says, and he means it. Then Seneca starts up the car and he has to quickly wave goodbye to Juan and Jim before they are left behind them. Once his older brother and boss fade from sight, he sighs and settles back against the seat. Seneca says nothing, and in fact the drives passes by in almost complete silence, broken only by an old country cassette tape she pushes into the player. It plays through twice before they finally arrived at their destination - a dirt road somewhere in the middle of Onondaga territory, leading to a cabin set a bit off from the rest of the village.
Onondaga is waiting for them when they pull up the drive. He wears his own long hair loose, clad in an old flannel shirt, buttoned up against the cooling night. None of the others are present: not Cayuga, with her skilled hands, nor Oneida, with his quiet solidarity, not Mohawk, herself as much the warrior as Seneca, nor Tuscarora, with his boisterous laugh. Matthew wonders if they will come at all.
He exchanges a greeting of some sort with his uncle, but he can`t recall the exact words of the exchange a minute later. He is tired from the drive, and his long illness, and distracted by seeing what he assumes is to be his new home for the time being. It is clearly far from new, but well-kept up despite that, clean and without the usual musty smell that accompanies such places. He sets Kumajirou down and takes the chance to peer inside while his aunt and uncle see to Alfred. There is a small kitchen with an old-fashioned woodstove and a table, one leg shorter than the other three and therefore propped up by a deck of playing cards. There is a small but serviceable bathroom and a loft that he assumes usually serves as the sleeping area. However, it appears someone knew they weren`t about to clamber up that ladder anytime soon, as two fold-out beds had been set up in the living room area and any furniture that might have been there removed, save for a coffee table and one sitting chair.
The windows are large and open, letting in the night air, which Matthew is thankful for as he sinks into the chair and breaths it in deeply. Alfred is laid on the bed nearest to him. Disregarding that his aunt and uncle are still present, Matthew slumps forward over his brother, rising and falling along with the movements of Alfred`s chest and listening to the heart beating in tandem with his own.
“You`ll be staying here for a while,” Onondaga explains, his voice not unkind. “Not isolated, but just given some space for the time being. We will bring you the things you need of course. It was decided this would be best.”
Best for whom, Matthew wonders, but he doesn`t ask that. “How long?” he asks instead, and turns to see his uncle`s answering shrug.
“Until you`re ready.”
Matthew grunts, and finally asks the question that`s been hovering at the back of his mind all this time, despite the part of him that dreads the answer.
“How are we still here?”
Seneca gives him a sharp stare that seems to go on forever to Matthew and answers before her brother.
“I`d guess you still have enough people believing in you not to start out after the ancestors just yet,” she says at last, following it up with a shrug. “Broke don`t mean dead, necessarily.” She begins walking towards the door, and after a moment, her brother follows her. “But that`s up to you, ain`t it?”
Notes:
“Of yourself and our little conejo too.” - Conejo means rabbit in Spanish.
The Iroquois were matriarchal: families traced down the mother`s line and the elder women appointed and removed chiefs from power. Thus, I decided to make Seneca and Cayuga (and later Mohawk) women. The Seneca and the Mohawk were located on the outside geographically-speaking, and charged with the protection of the League`s outer territories. The Onondaga were central, and thus were keepers of the League's (both literal and figurative) central flame. The Cayuga do not have their own reservation today and thus share with the Seneca today.
Auntie is a term of respect for an older woman among many tribes and not at all meant in the diminutive sense.
A small plea for anyone reading this: would you mind saying hello at least? Just to let me know that someone IS reading this. ^^; The silence is rather discouraging.